Reed Tetzloff: Concord
Master Performers

On his third album, pianist Reed Tetzloff pairs Charles Ives's Sonata No. 2, “Concord, Mass., 1840-60” (or, simply, Concord Sonata) with Ludwig van Beethoven's Sonata No. 31 in A-Flat major, Op. 110. Tetzloff, a pianist of extraordinary technical and interpretative ability, maintains the high standard set by his earlier releases, 2017's Sounds of Transcendence and 2021's Schumann. Like its predecessor, Concord was recorded at the Rockport Music Shalin Liu Performance Centre in Rockport, Massachusetts and fittingly appears on the Master Performers label. The Minneapolis-born pianist is well-served by the venue, the Steinway D he plays on the album, and the care with which producer Steven Epstein and recording engineer Rick Jacobsohn have captured the performances. The clarity of the recording enhances the presentation, as does the deluxe packaging of the release. A hardback booklet containing the CD and commentaries by Jan Swafford and Tetzloff is itself housed within a sturdy case, no expense spared in presenting the release in a manner befitting the quality of its content.

Both works merit attention, but it's the monumental one by Ives that is the release's major drawing card. The writing of the sonata was completed by about 1915, followed by its first publication in 1920 and twenty-seven years later a revised edition, the one typically performed today. While a number of pianists performed parts of the sonata after 1920, it was John Kirkpatrick who gave the public premiere of the complete work in late 1938 and who recorded it in 1945 for release on Columbia Records three years later. As the titles of its four movements indicate, Concord Sonata has to do with figures associated with transcendentalism, such that impressionistic portraits of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau bookend parts named after Bronson and Louisa May Alcott and Nathaniel Hawthorne (Swafford aptly characterizes the movements as “tone-portraits” of Ives's “spiritual mentors from childhood”). Adding to the enticement, each part differs dramatically from the others: “Emerson” is heroic and grand, “Hawthorne” playful, “The Alcotts” lyrical, and “Thoreau” reflective. Structurally, the work follows a mighty opener with a scherzo and adagio but then departs from tradition in ending with a slow finale instead of the customary allegro.

That's but one of many audacious moves by Ives. The final movement includes a flute cameo, harmonic daring is abundant, and the composer's notation is purposefully vague so as to allow for an improvisational element to emerge in the pianist's performance. In essence, Ives provided a blueprint that while thoroughly mapped-out still requires the interpreter to personalize the work through the act of re-creation. The high regard Ives had for his German counterpart is explicitly shown in the piece when each of its four movements references the opening bars of Beethoven's Symphony No. 5 and its familiar four-note motif. Of course the gesture's also emblematic of Ives's penchant for musical quotation.

At seventeen minutes, “Emerson” covers a vast amount of territory as it progresses through its kaleidoscopic journey, its probing examinations and incessant ebb-and-flow suggestive of a restless intelligence fiercely grappling with ideas. As towering as the oft-declamatory movement is, it includes quiet, lyrical passages too, one such anticipating what Ives deemed the “human faith melody” that flutist Emi Ferguson plays in full in the final movement. There are moments where the music slows to near-stillness, others where it accelerates and swells. “Emerson” contains multitudes, one part even sounding Gershwin-esque, and Tetzloff's control is remarkable, as is his handling of tempo and dynamics. Ives clarified that “Hawthorne” wasn't intended to capture the Puritan side of the author who wrote The Scarlet Letter but more the spirit of the “half-childlike, half-fairylike phantasmal realms” found in his lighter stories. Again contrasts abound between eruptive gestures and gentler statements, with Tetzloff navigating the unpredictable terrain impressively and effecting abrupt transitions smoothly. In true Ives fashion, echoes of hymns emerge as does a rousing old-fashioned march. The title “The Alcotts” naturally engenders associations with Little Women, and consistent with that Ives's writing is warm and comforting. A few blustery gestures and a dip into sentimental waters aside, the movement registers as a serene, lyrical interlude that again references the “human-faith” theme. The material turns hushed, mystical, and fragile for “Thoreau,” Ives evoking the image of the Walden author at his cabin absorbed in contemplation and playing his flute by the pond. Arriving late in this incredible piano work, the woodwind's haunting sound momentarily startles, but the realization quickly dawns that the entire work has been leading up to this gesture.

Tetzloff notes that chronologically the recording should start with the earlier work, composed in 1821 and the penultimate Beethoven piano sonata, but explains that the final notes of Ives's sonata transition so beautifully into the other that the decision was made to place Concord first. Certainly an effective bridge does occur from the dying notes of Ives's piece to the gentleness with which Beethoven's Sonata No. 31 Op. 110 begins. A mosaic of rich melodic material, the first movement rapidly blossoms into a series of gracefully flowing arpeggios and elaborations on multiple themes. Tetzloff makes good on the “Moderato cantabile molto espressivo” marking with a treatment that's moderate in speed and sings expressively. The brief second movement (“Allegro molto”) is a spirited scherzo based on German folk songs (Swafford identifies them as “My cat has had kittens” and “I'm a slob, you're a slob”), after which the finale arrives in its full fugal glory. After tenderness permeates the delicate opening part, a poignant episode of even deeper feeling follows, and when it dissolves the music springs back to life, the second fugue growing in strength as its intricate embroidery moves towards a robust conclusion. At twenty minutes, the work is compact, yet Beethoven nevertheless packs an impressive amount of emotional and musical material into its presentation.

February 2023